Entee kept life more interesting

Man who was a South Bend treasure died last week at 78.

Man who was a South Bend treasure died last week at 78.

November 11, 2009

Entee Shine slowly shook his head as I stood sheepishly in front of the guard cubicle between The Tribune's double front doors. He knew I had forgotten my identification badge -- again. "Your son didn't have his badge today, either," said Entee, a Tribune security guard. "Like father, like son. If I was keeping count, I'd say you two Moors are leading the pack in forgetting your badges." Normally, such guilty parties had to fill out a form while Entee methodically prepared a temporary stick-on ID. But with me, he gave up. He just gave me a long stare then pushed the button that opened the door. If I wasn't in a hurry, though, I would stay there for a few moments and find out what book Entee was reading or what he thought of the previous night's game or how many times he had to circle the block before he found a prime parking spot for that old gray car of his. That beer commercial about "the most interesting man in the world?" For me and a couple of my buddies, Entee could have fit that bill. I know some of my old cohorts would scoff at that. In his later years, Entee could be a little gruff as a Tribune gatekeeper. I chalked most of that up to his poor hearing and some of the health problems that began to accumulate within his 300-pound frame. Entee was a South Bend treasure. He was an all-state basketball and football player for South Bend Central. He was the first black athlete to earn a scholarship to Notre Dame. He was a good friend to many blacks and whites and seemed to be able to pull them closer together. He was a voracious and very thoughtful reader. He was a master at the understatement. He had his regrets, too -- not staying at Notre Dame and getting his degree, not playing in the pros after a tryout with the L.A. Rams, not being able to keep his marriage together. He also made life a lot more interesting if you got by his tough facade. Entee died last week at the age of 78. He was a proud and sensitive man. He suffered through discrimination as a person and a ballplayer -- hearing the n-word a horrible amount of times and sometimes forced to sleep and eat in different places than his teammates. He saw it as a youth in South Bend, too. "There was a drugstore on Washington and Walnut where I would go in and get an ice cream to go, but I couldn't sit at the counter," he told me years ago. "I knew that and didn't question it. That's just the way it was." Entee never seemed to retain any bitterness, partly because he saw the world get better for blacks. He admitted he had black friends who didn't like whites but he figured that was their tough luck. Other than a few opponents in his way, he never really hurt anyone, except maybe his mother when he was born. She weighed 98 pounds; he weighed 12 pounds, 9 ounces. That big baby became a big man -- a very interesting man and one I really miss. Bill Moor writes a Wednesday column for Community. He can be contacted at ern14est@yahoo.com.Moor or LessBill Moor